


Seek Me, Find Me

by round_robin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hide and Seek, Love Bites, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Rough Sex, Sex, not series two compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wants John to play hide and seek with him. Of course, it can't be normal hide and seek. That's just boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek Me, Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> An idea that popped in my head. I rather liked it, so here it is. :) I said consent kink because at one point, it's kind of consensual non-consent (if that makes any sense) and it's only there if you squint, but still, I like to warn.
> 
> A lot of my stuff is not series two compatible, but I'm pretty sure this isn't even series one compatible.
> 
> Not betaed or Brit-picked, finished like five minutes ago, so if anyone finds a typo, please include it along with your comment and it'll be seen to.

“John,” Sherlock said one day.

John had to try not to sigh. It was his day off, there were no cases on, and Sherlock was being surprisingly well mannered. He was all set to watch some telly all day and have a good meal, then maybe a good shag, and now it seemed Sherlock wanted to interrupt those plans.

Saying a quick goodbye to his quiet Sunday, John opened his eyes and peered over at Sherlock. “Yeah?” He asked.

“I want to do something today.” Sherlock said. “I want us to do something.”

“Oh?” John perked up a bit. If Sherlock wanted to spend the day having sex (he assumed that’s what this was) then he was all aboard for that. They’d gone from living together to _living_ _together_ just a few months back, and the sex was still exciting and new. Though really, the idea of sex with Sherlock being any sort of boring made John laugh. “Well,” he smiled and sat up on the couch. “What did you have in mind?”

Perched in the gray chair, Sherlock suddenly wouldn’t meet John’s eyes. He sat with his back ramrod straight and his hands tangled together in front of him, fingers twitching and tugging at each other. This raised John’s hackles. Could Sherlock not be talking about sex? He wasn’t usually this nervous about that particular subject… well, was he really nervous about anything?

“Hey,” he got up and sat in his chair right across from Sherlock. Reaching out, John settled his hand on Sherlock’s knee, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Whatever it is, it’s fine. If you think I might be hurt or offended or scared, we can talk about it.” After two years of following the madman around London, was there anything left that could shock John? Probably not, but leave it to Sherlock to find it.

Taking a breath, Sherlock reached out and placed his hand over top of John’s. “I want to play a game.” He whispered.

Worry immediately vanished and a wide smirk curled John’s lips. Role playing, they’d done that before, always with fantastic results. “Sure, we can do that.” John smiled. “Should I get the cuffs and one of Lestrade’s spare I.D.s?” They had dozens of them strewn about the flat; might as well put them to good use.

Sherlock’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Not that kind of game,” he whispered.

“No?” John’s smile fell. “Well, as long as it’s not Cluedo, I’m up for anything.”

Until now, Sherlock hadn’t met John’s eyes. Finally, those startling blue eyes flicked up to meet his and a soft pink tongue came out to moisten his lips. “Really?” Sherlock whispered.

“Yes,” John nodded. “Anything.” A dangerous statement around Sherlock, but John trusted him. They trusted each other.

“Alright,” no longer reserved and contained in himself, Sherlock moved forward in the chair and placed both his hands on John’s legs. Eyes shining with hunger, Sherlock finally told John want this was all about. “I want you to close your eyes and count to one hundred. Then I want you to come find me.”

John blinked. Then blinked again. One more time. He leaned back in the chair—keeping hold of Sherlock’s hands—he just… needed to figure this out. “You want. You want to play hide and seek?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, black curls bouncing with the movement. “Will you, please? Just inside 221 for now. It won’t be too hard for you.”

“Is this…” and John felt like a horrible person for asking. “Is this for a case?”

Sherlock looked scandalized. “No.”

“Are you… are you trying to test my deductive skills?” He’d done it before. Sherlock always wanted to see what John had picked up from him, and John was always happy to show off. But this seemed… different.

“No.” Sherlock said quickly. “If anything, your skills learned in the military would be more helpful in this.”

“Point,” John nodded. “But I still don’t understand. You really just want to play hide and seek?”

“John,” Sherlock scooted up in the chair until their knees brushed together. He leaned in to rub silky soft lips against John’s neck, whispering against the skin there. “I’m going to hide, and then I want you to search for me. Find me. Trap me. Hold me. And then, then you can do whatever you want to me.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, his trousers already starting to feel impossibly tight. “Oh,” John managed to squeak. “Yeah, I think, I think I can do that.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock purred against his skin. “Good.” He placed a small kiss on John’s neck and stood up, untying his dressing gown and throwing it back in the chair. “Count to one hundred.”

“Yeah, sure,” John nodded stupidly. He was trying really hard not to reach down and touch himself.

Sherlock shot his a smile. “Close your eyes.” John did. Suddenly, beautiful, plush lips were pressed against his. “Thank you,” they whispered into the kiss. Then they were gone. “Count!” Was the last thing John heard from Sherlock before the sitting room door banged open.

It took a few seconds, but John finally managed to get himself together enough to actually do what he was supposed to. “One. Two, three, four, five…”

He kept counting, right up to one hundred. When he finally opened his eyes, John half expected Sherlock to be standing right in front of him, ready to pounce. Finding no one there, John set about searching the flat. The whole slamming door might’ve been a decoy, Sherlock could still be lurking in one of the adjacent rooms.

When he’d searched the kitchen, the bedroom, and the loo, and found no Sherlock, the insanity of the whole thing hit. John Watson, a grown man, was playing hide and see with his lover—an equally grown man. And then at the end of it, they were going to have sex. Even as far as Sherlock went, this had to be some of the strangest foreplay ever, but damn it if it didn’t turn John on.

First floor cleared, John went up the stairs to his room. He doubted Sherlock would do anything as obvious as hide in a bedroom (after all, having sex in a bed was boring). Still, he searched. Leave no stone unturned.

Finding nothing, John went down to the main floor. Mrs. Hudson was out, but even Sherlock wouldn’t be crazy enough to hide in there. He had boundary issues, that was true, but Mrs. H was that special kind of someone who could even bring Sherlock to heel. Even though he rarely listened to her, he still respected her. He wouldn’t do something as stupid as invite John to fuck him in her sitting room.

With 221 A and B cleared, that only left one possibility: 221C.

First clue: the door was open. Mrs. Hudson claimed to have the only key, but had standard five tumbler lock ever stopped Sherlock Holmes?

John made his way down the stairs, avoiding any creaky steps. Sherlock would probably hear him soon anyway, still, John wanted to keep the advantage as long as he could.

There were a few spots where the dust was disturbed. Either Sherlock was being sloppy, or he was leaving a deliberate trail. Or, secret option C: in his lust-fueled haste, Sherlock didn’t even notice all the clues he was leaving. That possibility excited John the most. In fact, this whole game was exciting. The hairs on the back of his neck had been standing up ever since he left the flat. A light sheen of sweat rose along his skin, making everything hot, and itchy, and delicious. Lust pooled low in his groin, bringing everything to a fever pitch. John was already imagining what he was going to do to Sherlock once he found him…

221C consisted of a sitting room, a small kitchenette, a bed and a bath. Both the kitchen and sitting room were clear.

Treading so softly that he couldn’t even hear his own steps, John crept to the bedroom door. It was already cracked and opened with a loud creak. Damn, cover blown.

In the half-darkness, John saw movement. A long, lanky shape jumping up and running to the bathroom. “Got you!” John yelled, and lunged at Sherlock.

He caught the man around the waist and pressed him against the wall. John’s heart was beating hard in his chest as the excitement peaked. Pressed against Sherlock, he could feel the detective’s heart beating wildly.

They scuffled for a minute as John tried to get a firm grasp on the sweat-slick Sherlock. The whole while, Sherlock moaned and groaned into John’s touches. They both knew he was being a bit rough, but neither seemed to care.

Eventually, John had Sherlock pinned against the wall, their cocks grinding together. “I found you,” he growled into Sherlock’s neck. “Do I get my prize now?”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock panted. He turned his head, giving better access to his neck and urged John to bite down. John did. He could only imagine the livid bruises his harsh lips and teeth were bringing up, but really, John didn’t care. The thought of bright, pulsing blue, red and purple marring that long lovely throat only served to make John harder.

Pressed up against the wall, Sherlock ground back against him until they were almost, almost…

Moments later, after everything had exploded in a white-hot ball of passion and energy, they both laid on the floor, panting heavily.

“That,” John finally managed. “Was one of your better ideas.”

“So glad you approve,” Sherlock smirked. “Want to hear some more of my better ideas?”

John swallowed away his arousal. If he hadn’t just come so hard he could feel it in his spleen, he would’ve been hard again at the promise in that statement. “Oh God yes.”

 

~

 

Slowly, their games of hide and seek became more elaborate. They played a few more times inside the confines of 221, but then it was John who suggested moving to a larger arena.

When they next played, Sherlock was allowed to hide anywhere on the west half of the street. John found him crouched near the bins behind Speedy’s. This time, Sherlock remembered to slide a tube of lube in his pocket, so they were free to fuck in the alley. Pressed up against the alley wall, John ploughed Sherlock like never before, his teeth attached to the detective’s throat as Sherlock shouted “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

The game expanded to all of Baker Street. Then to the next two streets. That time, Sherlock was hiding in the loo at Angelo’s. John was careful to slide the “closed for cleaning” sign in front of the door and turn the lock before taking Sherlock over the sink, so they could watch each other’s eyes in the mirror. That time, John was pretty sure they could hear Sherlock’s howls from the street.

As the field got larger, Sherlock had to start leaving clues for John to follow. John was good, but when Sherlock could be hiding anywhere in Central London, he did need a bit of direction.

Little notes were passed to him by the homeless network, written in Sherlock’s tidy hand: _The last place we had dinner after finishing a case._

When he arrived at the café, he set about searching the street until a text message sent him down to the nearest underground stop. Once there, John found a note tucked in between the pages of the most recent forensic digest at a news stand. The note led him to Scotland Yard, where he found Sherlock in Lestrade’s office.

It was a Sunday, and Lestrade was away for the weekend…

Funnily enough, John’s scruples about fucking Sherlock over their friend’s desk vanished as soon as he was buried inside his mad lover. He pounded Sherlock so hard, the drawers kept banging open and closed, dropping pens and other office supplies all over the floor. They would clean up later, maybe.

It all escalated to playing with London as their field. John had no clue how he’d manage to find Sherlock, but he agreed. He couldn’t not. The adrenaline rush from expecting to find a hard and wanting Sherlock behind every street corner was too much. Just imagining how good that long, pale throat looked covered in love bites and all-out bruises was enough to spur John on. Just one more hour of searching, just one more.

Sherlock’s clues led him everywhere. Literally, everywhere. Bart’s, where Molly had the next clue on her desk, down to the Yard where Lestrade had a note from Sherlock (and some pretty pointed questions about the state of his office a few weeks ago). A few text messages led him here and there, until finally, John was back at the Baker Street tube station.

“So close, Sherlock?” He whispered under his breath. Sherlock wouldn’t hide in the same place twice, so the sandwich shop, Angelo’s, and 221C were all out, as were a few random locations down the street.

This time, John didn’t need his military training or any of Sherlock’s deductive skills to know where the man was hiding. He went right into 221B and up the stairs to his bedroom.

Heart hammering in his ears, John pushed open the bedroom door to find Sherlock—hard, naked and waiting—stretched across his sheets. A wolfish smile curled his lips, as if he was the hunter instead of the hunted. He rolled over and presented his soft belly and hard cock. “You found me.” The words came out in a breathy purr, shaped by perfect lips that would look even better around John’s cock.

“I found you,” John nodded and started removing his clothes.

Once he was naked, he pounced onto the bed and wrapped his arms around his catch. Sherlock bucked up, aligning their hips in the perfect way. “God, you found me,” he breathed as John set his teeth on that long, beautiful neck.

“I found you,” John whispered again. “And now, I’m going to have you.”

John’s excitement had been building for hours. With every little clue Sherlock gave him, he grew a little more desperate, wanting nothing more than to duck into some café and have a quick wank in the loo. But waiting—letting it build until he almost couldn’t stand it—was so much better.

Upending the lube over his hand, John shoved two fingers into Sherlock right away. The other man groaned at the sudden intrusion and bucked his hips for more. John would check him over later, but right now, they both needed it as rough and as hard as possible. The hunter had found his prey, and now it was time to claim his prize.

Not wasting too much time on stretching and opening Sherlock, John pulled his fingers out and slicked his cock before resting the head against Sherlock’s hole. “Yes John,” Sherlock gasped out. His hands scrambled for purchase, leaving tiny scratches on John’s shoulders and arms. “Inside me, now!” John was only too happy to comply.

With a hard thrust, John pushed until he bottomed out. They both groaned at the sensations. “Fuck Sherlock,” John breathed. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

“So take it,” Sherlock whispered back. “You found me, now take me.”

John’s hands dropped down to get a firm grip on Sherlock’s slim hips before he started pumping away. Thrusting so hard, he could feel his fillings rattle. But that was alright. That was more than alright, it was fucking fantastic.

Writhing and moaning beneath him, Sherlock was loud enough to shake the rafters. Loud enough to make Mrs. Hudson complain (which took some doing) and John couldn’t get enough of it.

“That’s right,” he panted, plunging into Sherlock again and again. “I found you, now you’re mine. Anything I want. And you. Can’t. Stop. Me!”

“John!” Sherlock called out.

“Sherlock, fuck!”

John’s orgasm hit like a truck. No, like a train. One of those circus trains carrying elephants. For one long second, John’s vision grayed out, only to come back and find Sherlock panting underneath him, his belly coated with sticky ropes of his own come.

Now that their fever was gone, John was very careful in pulling out. “Alright?” He whispered.

“Mmm, yes,” Sherlock nodded. His eyes were already closed, already drifting off to sleep.

“That was a bit rough.” John admitted quietly. “I’m going to check you over real quick.”

“As you like,” Sherlock said and opened his legs a little wider to give John access.

When he saw no bleeding or abrasions, just a lot of sore tissue, John reached over and grabbed some tissues from the bedside table. Once they were cleaned up, he collapsed down on the bed next to Sherlock.

Sensing that John was down for the count as well, Sherlock rolled over and wrapped his long limbs around his bed partner. “Still think this is a good idea?”

“Oh yeah,” John smiled into his hair.

They didn’t speak for a moment. John was halfway asleep when he heard Sherlock’s voice again. “We probably need help, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to try and find it for us.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why, but I have a thing for involving an unwitting Lestrade in their love life. Don't judge me for it.


End file.
